A Rose Isn't Just A Rose
by brokenstitches
Summary: ...he sat there opposite her, not offering the usual words of sympathy and comfort, but just sitting there and showing that he would not leave her side until she had mended... Oneshot. RWSM


**A Rose Isn't Just A Rose**

She was huddled in the corner of one of the large windows that overlooked the school grounds, her small frame casting a long dark shadow that splashed across the pools of warm jewelled colours on the cold stone floor as the last rays of the evening sun filtered through the stained glass. Her hands, quietly resting in her lap, held a single red blossom – its petals a dark burgundy, its tips nearly a charred black; beside her lay the shredded remains of a whole foot of parchment. She ever so slightly brushed her finger down the length of the stem as she stared out the window, looking but not actually seeing, at the students relishing the unexpected lovely weather that day before having to go back in so as not to be caught out past curfew.

Her finger caught on a thorn in the stem and a gasp escaped her lips and her eyes teared up, blurring her vision momentarily. Looking down, she saw that a small bead had formed on her finger, threatening to stain whatever it landed on an ugly maroon red. As she tried to focus on something other than her bleeding finger, she couldn't help but be drawn to the pieces of parchment – specifically, the carelessly scribbled words on the pieces of parchment. Her eye drew out the odd phrase here and there; _just too soon_... _it would've never worked out_... _it's for the better_...

The hot tears came again, and she shut her eyes, unwilling for them to escape. Unwanted images, now-painful memories from the past, charged through her mind. She saw chestnut-brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. She saw strong arms around her and remembered a warm embrace. She saw a kiss. It wasn't their first kiss as some would have expected; tentative and shy as they slowly leaned into one another, nor was it their most passionate of kisses; heated and intense as they pulled hungrily at one another. What she saw was much simpler.

She saw a cool night and two students sneaking out of their dormitories to the top of a tower. She saw countless sparkling diamonds across the silky black darkness. She saw a girl put her head on her companion's shoulder as they gazed at the starry sky, and her companion turn his head and gently kiss her forehead before turning back to the endless night, identical contented smiles adorning their faces. With that kiss, it felt like he would always be there. He would be the one she could count on when her life was shattered into thousands of fragments. It was a mistake believing that.

A tear spilled out from under her lashes and splashed onto the red on her finger. She absentmindedly started picking the petals off the flower, the flower that had come with the rolled up parchment; as if a flower meant that he was sorry, as if it would've softened the blow. A shadow fell on her and she looked up to see white-blond hair and a worried look behind stormy-grey eyes. He asked her how she was and she told her story in a muted voice, all the while keeping her chocolate-brown eyes on the flower she was tearing to pieces. When she had finished he sat there opposite her, not offering the usual words of sympathy and comfort but just sitting there and showing that he would not leave her side until she had mended.

Then he asked why she was taking apart such a delicate flower. She replied that it was just a rose. Just a silly rose. He tilted her chin up so that she was looking into his eyes, an unreadable emotion swirling behind the grey. He stopped her shredding by covering her hand and leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers, as he said that a rose was never _just_ a rose. After what seemed like forever, he leaned back and shifted his gaze out the window. She tried to act as if his actions had not flustered her and became unusually interested in the cut on her finger. At least, she would have been, if her finger had not somehow mended without her realising. She chanced another look and saw him still looking steadily out the window; his blond hair messy from running to find her, his wand sticking out of the pocket of his robes, a small smile on his face. An image glided through her mind. This time, she saw the one who would stay to pick up the pieces.


End file.
